Homeward Bound
by catgirlutah
Summary: Port Royal, Jamaica is in the midst of a very wet and heavy rainstorm when someone quite unexpected shows up at the Turner household. Why is Jack back?
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this... sorry.

AN (5/12): I have finished all of my AP tests! As a present to you (referring to loyal reviewers, of course) ...I'm going to write this odd little alternate universe thingy in my head at the moment. Maybe. Maybe it isn't an alternate universe. I've yet to decide.

**Homeward Bound: Chapter One**

The skies were crying. They'd been holding back tears for far too long and the strain was just too much for the clouds to bear any longer. The result was torrential amounts of rain. The cobblestone streets of Port Royal seemed to bleed, at first, and now there was quite a healthy stream running down, towards the ocean to begin the cycle all over again. Everyone who had a place to go to get out of the drenching sheets of water falling from the mourning sky was inside. Those who didn't were crouching underneath under hangs in alleyways, holding their legs to their chests in an attempt to stave off the surprisingly cold wind.

Only one person was walking in these absolutely miserable conditions. The rain didn't seem tofaze him at all, he relished having the water collect on his eyelashes and fall to the ground. A part of him was worried that the dark kohl lining his eyes would run, but he realized he couldn't stop Mother Nature from releasing whatever stress it was she'd been internalizing since the last time it rained. Besides, the kohl never had run, even after spending a lot of time in the ocean. It was one of the few things in the world he could actually depend on.

His destination seemed rather uncertain, mostly because of the way he was walking. He seemed to be either quite drunk or a toddler just learning how to walk that had a curious sort of grace with each uneasy step forward. The man had been walking like that for as long as he could remember. It always amused him when he saw people try to imitate him. While it looked rather easy to swagger so much, it really was quite difficult to swagger and actually reach a destination without running into walls.

The fact that he was the only one wandering around on the cobblestone streets didn't seem to faze him at all. In fact, he almost seemed pleased to be alone. Alone in Port Royal equaled safe, an equation he was very anxious to keep balanced. There were people living here who would love to do nothing more than kill him on sight, or at least capture him, extract any valuable information out of his muddled mind, and then watch him take a short drop and make a sudden stop. As long as he was alone, people probably wouldn't recognize him and he probably wouldn't end up dancing that jig all people in his profession dreaded: the hempen jig.

His dark hair was dripping, along with his eyelashes, in tune with some internal rhythm that just wouldn't go away as he walked. His feet were walking in time with it as well, and the trinkets in his hair chimed their interesting little tunes to add to the overall song. It was quite pleasant, walking in the rain listening to a song that is uniquely yours. Maybe that was why he enjoyed walking in such a curious manner, to continue hearing his song. No one but he knew the reason for all of his excessive hand gestures and unique stride.

He reached wherever it was he was going a short time later. The look in his dark brown eyes was one of discontent mixed with false enthusiasm. Apparently he wasn't excited to be here. Either that, or he didn't want to get out of the rain as he forced himself to knock on the simple wooden door in front of him. As he waited for a response his left hand placed itself on the door frame, as though to steady his shaking mind. The rain now seemed cold and cruel, each drop felt like a sting.

The house he was at seemed to be a house he shouldn't visit. The odd little trinkets in his hair (including a piece of bone, a cord of rope, and various colorful beads) seemed to hiss at the quaint abode he was standing in front of. The home was made out of bricks and the labor used to build the house had quite the history. George Bundle built the home for his blushing bride, Adelaide, nearly a generation before. His sweat and blood was in every corner of the small but sufficient house. He didn't finish, sadly, until after his wife died giving birth to their first child. He'd then lived inside the house as a recluse, refusing to say anything to anyone ever again. The child had died along with the mother. Though the house wasn't the biggest in the world, it was far too sufficient for a man living all by himself. George had eventually killed himself, with one of the loose bricks laying outside. No one in Port Royal had blamed him; no one in Port Royal even remembered he existed, actually. Port Royal had always been a tight knit community and those with "imperfections" generally were just ignored to assure the safety of the majority. The house had adopted a similar idea after several homeless people wandered in and out of its doors. Trust is something very hard to find and easily lost, even if the object in question is inanimate. The current owners, however, knew nothing of George Bundle and his tragic history. They'd found the place quaint (and affordable) enough to move in immediately following their wedding.

The outside of the house, which had been in a serious state of disrepair merely a year ago, now sported all sorts of beautiful flowers and well-manicured lawns. It was probably because of the woman, seeing as the man was quite bad with anything delicate in his hands. The house was wearing a cheerful new coat of paint that seemed happy to be in the rainstorm. It was almost like a patch of blue sky. And it was disgusting to the man waiting for the door to be opened. Living on land was not something he wanted to do ever again. But he was here.

Sighing, he knocked again, the hand shifting to the other side of the door frame as a small scowl graced his generally amused features. Standing out in the rain isn't very fun unless you can move about and splash in the puddles. What was taking so long? It wasn't as though he was here exceptionally late. If the sun wasn't hiding behind the mourning sky, it would only be about one in the afternoon. It was very unlikely that the couple was off visiting others. Judging on the pools of water gathering wherever there were depressions in the ground, this storm had been going on for quite some time now. He reasoned that perhaps the rain was drowning out the sound of his knocks, though, and knocked once more, even louder. Water can be rather annoying at times, when you let it be.

Finally the door opened, revealing a man taller than the drenched wretch staring intently at him. He had brown eyes as well, but they weren't nearly as expressive or enthralling or dark. Just plain brown eyes for a plain hard working individual who'd turned his back on everything the wet man stood for. There was no animosity there, however, because the taller man had a great deal of respect for the wet man and the wet man had a grudging sort of respect for the taller man. At least he stuck to his morals. And he was teachable.

"Jack?" the taller man asked, completely astounded as he stood there dumbly in the doorway without inviting the wet man called Jack in. "What are you doing here?"

"Something that will be explained," Jack replied with a hint of a smirk. "Just please let me ge' out of the rain, savvy?" He coughed lightly, emphasizing his unspoken point that he would catch cold or pneumonia or would cough up his lungs or something, as he put his free hand to his mouth to keep from coughing on the taller man.

"Oh...sorry. Forgot my manners." The man bowed slightly and stepped backward. "Come in, Captain Sparrow."

"Thank ye," Jack replied, bowing back. He always liked it when people remembered his proper title, after all. He then stepped into the room and stood as still as a frightened gazelle for a moment as he studied the decor of the small front room. It was pleasant, like the outside of the man's house. Not very well furnished, but Jack knew that the man had only just barely started his own blacksmith shop six months ago. New businesses generally don't pay dividends very fast. "Nice house."

"Thanks," the man replied, shutting the door to keep the noisy rain out of the house. It wasn't that he didn't expect everything to get wet now that Jack was in his home, but Jack probably wouldn't be able to drip on top of his head. He didn't like water very much. He looked expectantly at Jack.

Jack sighed softly, shaking his head and watching with a distant interest as little droplets went flying from his dark tangled mess of hair to land on the floor and a small chair near the door. "Can I at leas' get dry first, then?"

"Well..."

"Please, Will?" Jack interrupted, sensing that his companion was about to complain about how Jack had shown up here in the first place, completely drenched. He coughed again, doing the same thing with his left hand as he'd done before, though it was significantly louder this time. "Coming down wiv somethin', I think," he said weakly, upon noticing a look of concern flitting across Will's face.

"Oh," Will replied, looking even more concerned. Jack winced slightly when he saw that. Pirates weren't supposed to have people concerned over their well being. "Well, lets get you out of your wet clothes." Now that he had a certain goal in mind, he seemed to be less ill at ease and more able to handle the situation. "Wait here."

"Wouldn' dream of not," Jack replied with just a small hint of sarcasm in his voice as Will left the room. There was going to be quite the puddle of water on the floor, after he moved. At least Will had a floor. A lot of homes merely had dirt, especially if they were the first home owned by either party of the marriage. Maybe Will's smithy was doing better than Jack imagined it doing. Or maybe the bride had been quite wealthy.

Jack glanced uncomfortably around at his surroundings wondering why people could stand living on solid ground. His feet and his body already missed the gentle swaying of his ship. He already missed his ship. The _Black Pearl_ had left him behind so he could come here. That precious embodiment of everything Jack had ever sought for in life had left him here. On this island. Where he wasn't welcome. Of course, it had been at his order that they'd come here in the first place. The _Pearl_ wasn't where he wanted to be for the next month or so.

Thinking of that was quite bothersome, however, so Jack decided to think about something else. He didn't want to make his spirits gray like the weather outside, nor did he want to break down like the skies had this morning. That would just not be Captain Jack Sparrow, frankly, and he hated not being himself more than even Commodore James Norrington's nefarious plans to capture him. Funny that he was right under the man's nose, wasn't it?

Will soon came back with some fresh (and dry) clothes, much to Jack's relief. He handed them to the sage captain and sat down in one of the horrendously ugly red armchairs decorating the front room. "Why are you here, Jack?"

Jack sighed softly again as he slowly took his vest and shirt off, setting them down near the puddle that was congregating at his feet. "How's Martha?"

Will frowned slightly, but decided to answer anyway. He was under the impression that Jack would tell him eventually and that he wouldn't like it. Knowing Jack, they'd be gallivanting for treasure by tomorrow afternoon. Jack had a way of telling Will what to do that Will didn't realize was just that. "She's doing good, Jack. Only out for a few days, after Rebekah was born."

"Tha's good," Jack replied, smiling slightly as he wrung some water out of his hair. "Sorry abou' all the ah..." He motioned towards the puddle on the hardwood floor.

"Doesn't matter," Will replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "Water does dry, after all." Jack could tell that Will was burning with curiosity. He acted in much the same way Bootstrap used to. Couldn't hardly sit still, couldn't stand without rocking back and forth a bit. It was amusing, leading him on.

Jack nodded slightly. "Tha' it does," he said as he picked up Will's dry shirt and slipped it on over his head. Only slightly too big. At least it was better than being stuck in those wet rags. He finished changing quickly and then took a seat next to Will, looking completely exhausted quite suddenly.

"Are you quite all right?" Will asked, another look of concern on his face as he regarded the older man. That look of concern really was making Jack feel even worse than he did. Funny how that works, isn't it? Seems that people generally have an easier time handling things until someone asks them if they're "all right".

Jack nodded slowly. "Just tired. Been a long day, y' see." He smiled very slightly. "Don' worry, Will...I'll give ye answers. Jus' not yet." He stood up suddenly. "Would ye 'appen t' have that extra bed still?"

"Yes," Will replied, standing up as well. "We do. And you're free to use it, of course."

"Thanks," Jack replied with a yawn. He bowed slightly, pivoted around on just one foot, and left the room. Jack obviously knew his way around the small home, for he soon reached the room with the extra bed, closed the door, and fell asleep on the slightly musty smelling bed that probably hadn't been used since the last time Jack had been there.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Nope. Still can't write about any of this. Tartar sauce.

AN (5/12): I'm in no mood to work on my senior project that's due on Monday, so here I am writing for all y'all. Fantastic, isn't it?

(5/18): Well, I survived that senior project. And I've finished nearly everything I have to do in school. So...updates should be a bit more regular. Unless I get into a writing slump again.

**Homeward Bound: Chapter Two**

A soft touch on Jack's shoulder made him wake up quite violently, as pirates often do because of the fact that people touching them while they are sleeping are probably trying to steal their money or put them in irons. Perhaps that was why he nearly punched Will in the head as he reached for the gun he wasn't wearing because he'd left it out with his soaking wet clothes. It was only after Jack sat up completely that he opened his eyes. "What?" he asked sharply. Jack didn't like it when people woke him up so early. The little room seemed to be just as dark as possible. Either it was still raining, or it was the middle of the night. Why would Will be such an inconsiderate host?

"Would you like to eat something, Jack?" Will asked, rather surprised to hear Jack snap at him so easily. "You've been asleep all day."

One of Jack's eyebrows quirked up beneath his still slightly damp red bandanna as he glanced towards the small window again. "What time is it?"

"Supper," Will replied, following Jack's gaze up there. "The rain stopped sometime last night, and you've been asleep all day."

"So ye said," Jack replied with a small smirk, inconspicuously stretching some of his fatigued muscles as he pulled the covers back. He felt much better now. Maybe some of what Gibbs had said was of merit.

"_We all realize ye've been feelin' a bit under the weather, Captain. Ye jus' needs a bit of a rest, t' get back t' being the captain we all know an' follow. Jus' a week. Jus' stay there a week, Captain, an' I'm sure ye'll be better."_

Captaining a ship can be a very stressful job, actually, and there's no real time to take a "sick" day off. People depended on you to make decisions, even if you were in bed. The only way to escape the myriad of questions was to leave the ship. Which was part of the deciding factor of Jack's current position. He didn't like land, but he needed rest and a fairly good friend to talk to.

"Are you all right, Jack?" Will asked softly, watching Jack much like a mother watches a toddler take its first wobbly steps or watches a child who has had too many sweets complain of a stomach ache. Jack got the distinct feeling that Will half expected him to throw up all over the bed. It was amusing, since Jack didn't feel nauseous at all. He'd merely been tired.

Jack grinned and nodded. "Perfectly all righ'. Jus' making up for los' sleep, ye see. Haven' done much sleepin' lately. Too many little problems on the _Pearl_ tha' needed t' be handled." He stood up. "I feel much better now than I did before. I was walkin' in tha' rain a bit too long yesterday, since the _Pearl_ dropped me off in Spittlefield." Spittlefield was about a days journey (in a carriage) away from the auspicious Port Royal and had much more lax security. It was easier for such an easily identifiable ship like the _Black Pearl_ to anchor there and drop off cargo (or passengers) than to stop in Port Royal.

"You walked from Spittlefield in that?" Will asked, completely amazed. Just like his father would've been. Walking can still occur in rain, it just isn't as pleasant as walking when the birds are singing in the the trees and the sun is shining cheerfully overhead.

"Well, yes," Jack replied, chuckling and shaking his head. "Now... ye said somethin' about food, didn' you?" Jack seemed quite eager to get some food down to keep the mice inside his stomach from scratching and making him so uncomfortably hungry.

Will nodded and moved towards the door. "If you don't mind me asking, Jack, why _did_ you nearly hit me when I woke you up?"

"Never wake a pirate up tha' way," Jack cautioned, following Will. "We've been teachin' ourselves not to trust anyone, especially a man who wakes ye by touching ye. Probably out t' steal your doubloons. Bes' t' hit first an' ask questions later."

"But you missed," Will observed. "Did you mean to?"

Jack merely chuckled. "Well, tha's really up in the air, isn't it? I might have remembered tha' I was in yer house, certainly. Or I might jus' be rather bad at punching people. Up t' ye t' decide." He chuckled again as Will shook his head, clearly confused. There were a lot of things about Captain Jack Sparrow that made little to no sense.

"Thanks," Will muttered sarcastically a moment later. "I'll interpret as you not being able to punch people." He grinned at Jack and the two fell into companionable silence as they made their way to the table. It really didn't take very long to reach the slightly worn table that the Turners had all of their meals at. Though it was worn, it clearly was still serviceable. There were three warm plates of some sort of chicken concoction laying on the table, just begging to be eaten. In the center was a pitcher of water and a bowl of fruit. Jack would've assumed the fruit was for dessert if he hadn't smelled that deliciously sugary smell coming from the kitchen. He wasn't sure what it was, but it smelled very good indeed.

A graceful woman stepped out of the small kitchen at about the same time Will and Jack sat down at the table with a bundle of pastel blankets in her arms. Both men instantly stood up (it was common courtesy, after all) and Will pulled the chair next to him with a place setting out, helping her sit down. After the brunette was settled in her chair with the bundle in the crook of her right arm, Jack and Will sat down again.

"Captain Sparrow," the woman said pleasantly, smiling charmingly towards Jack after Will said a few quick words of Grace for the food. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

Jack nodded gracefully back and replied, "Aye, Mrs. Turner, it really is." The two then looked down at their plates at the same time before both of them started laughing. Will joined in a few moments later. After they'd regained the ability to speak, Jack looked towards the twinkling green eyes directly across from him. "How are ye, Martha?"

"I'm fine, Jack," Martha replied, smiling her appreciation for his concern towards her. "As is Rebekah." She smiled down at the bundle in her arms, pulling back the blanket to reveal a rather pretty baby, as far as babies go. Rebekah had large brown eyes like her father and dark hair like her mother. She would probably be a beauty when she grew up, but Jack could only faintly see that. It was probably because he wasn't the doting father and could notice the slightly crooked nose Rebekah would be cursed with for the rest of her life. Ah well.

"She certainly looks fine," Jack commented, after he finished getting a quick sense of what the girl looked like. He didn't want to lie and gush and say that the baby was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, because she certainly wasn't, but she wasn't the most plain child or woman he'd seen, so kudos to Rebekah there. Besides, what was the point of complimenting a baby anyway? They can't understand the compliment.

Martha nodded and gently kissed the top of the little girl's forehead. Then she glanced over at Jack as Will glanced fondly down at his daughter. "What brings you 'ere, Jack?" she asked after a slightly uncomfortable pause in which Jack started eating the chicken laying on the table.

He swallowed quickly, setting his knife down on the table as he glanced between Martha and Will. Will was now no longer glancing at his daughter. Obviously he still was quite curious as to why Jack was here, wasn't he? Why couldn't they keep their questions to themselves? Sharing is really quite overrated, especially when you are a pirate. "I needed a bi' of a break," he said as soon as the food was to a safe and comfortable position in his esophagus. "I've caught a bi' of a cold an' Anamaria and Gibbs seem t' think I need a holiday, t' get better." He grabbed his serviette from the table and started coughing lightly.

"Oh," Will replied, the look of worry that had been on his face since Jack had arrived fading slightly. Just a cold. Well, pirates could get sick too, right?

Martha glared at Will for a moment, clearly waiting for him to say something further. When he didn't, she sighed softly and announced, "Well, Jack, you're more than welcome t' stay here. As long as you need to." Her enchanting green eyes were full of nothing but sympathy and friendship.

Disgusting. Jack almost felt like heaving the rather dry chicken he'd just swallowed back up. Would they give him that same look the entire bloody time he was here? Hopefully not. They'd get used to his coughing and then he could just be bothersome to them both as he tried to combat the boredom that would set in by this time tomorrow. Jack had never liked being left on land, nor did he think he ever would. All seventeen miserable years he'd been forced to live on land, he'd found ways to distract himself, yes (mostly by reading books on sailing and navigating and teaching himself to swim), but that was then and this was now and he was rather set in his ways. Like an old dog, being forced to move from the Caribbean to Greenland. It really wouldn't surprise him if he ended up getting sicker, from the fact that he'd be away from the sea and his true love. What if something happened to the _Black Pearl_ while he was here? He couldn't live with himself if... oh. Well, Anamaria would take care of her.

Will nodded, cutting at his chicken with his knife. The look of concentration on his face while doing so was actually quite funny. Jack didn't know how he'd attracted a woman like Martha, frankly. They seemed like a mismatched pair. Well, not wholly mismatched, like Will and Elizabeth had been before splitting up. But that was something Jack didn't really want to know too much about. There had been some sort of catalyst during their wedding and they hadn't stayed married very long or something. It wasn't as though Elizabeth was dead, because she wasn't. She was safe with her new husband. Jack wasn't even sure what the man's name was. Elizabeth didn't like him and he didn't want to reconcile their relationship (if you wanted to call it that) any time soon. Maybe in a week or two. As it was, he'd rather wait here. Here was safe. He'd been here before, a year or so ago, shortly after they'd married. They'd welcomed him into their home for no real reason and Jack felt safe here. No where else, save the _Pearl_. But he needed to rest. "Thank ye, Martha," Jack replied with a characteristic half smile, looking down at his chicken again. "Yer a real life saver."

"It's no problem at all," Martha replied generously, fussing with Rebekah for a moment. She smiled at Jack and the table fell to silence. An overwhelming sort of silence that seems to pervade in every conversation at one time or another. This was rather uncomfortable, though. Jack was beginning to wonder why he'd let Gibbs talk him into coming here. He was a pirate. He was like a sore thumb. Everyone would notice him, right?

Once dinner was finished, Jack looked between Will and Martha for a moment. "So...wha' do normal people generally do, after dinner?" If he were back on the _Pearl_, he could just go up to the helm and stare off at the horizon. It really was the perfect place to think because his crew was under the impression they shouldn't bother him unless it was a real emergency. A bit silly, in Jack's opinion, but he could tell why they thought that way. For the past two years, whenever they had asked him questions while he was thinking, he'd been rather short with them. Mostly because they'd interrupted him with ridiculous problems or concerns or something. Now he had the reputation of being one of those you can't disturb. Jack really wouldn't mind if someone distracted him in an intelligent way, but hoping for that on a pirate ship really wasn't wise.

Will and Martha looked at each other for a moment, a look of slight embarrassment dancing across both their faces like an elephant being frightened by a snake or mouse. "Well, we could talk," Will finally said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. It wasn't as though he was uncomfortable. He just wasn't used to sitting down for very long, being a blacksmith and all, and sitting too long could be rather uncomfortable, hence the shift.

"We could," Jack replied, sighing softly. This was the moment he was dreading, wasn't it? Now they would ask him all the hard questions. All the questions he didn't want to answer he would certainly have to answer.

"Only if you want to, of course," Martha added, sensing the uncomfortable feeling dancing around underneath Jack's skin like some sort of insect, as she stood up and handed Rebekah to Will. The baby really was quite well behaved, even though she was chubby enough to weigh as much as two babies. Maybe she didn't have enough energy to fuss.

"It's time," Jack replied, standing and collecting the dishes. "Jus' give me a moment t'... collect my thoughts." He smiled briefly, indicating the dishes. "I can clean those up for you."

"Well... if you want to," Will replied, as society demanded. It was clear he'd rather see Jack do them than Martha, since she worked herself nearly to death each day by caring for Rebekah and keeping the house clean.

"I do." Jack chuckled at the look of surprise on both of their faces. He was a pirate, after all. Pirates weren't supposed to clean anything. Not only were they known for their complete disregard of rules, but they were known for the pungent odor that seemed to follow them wherever they went. Certainly not very hygienic, working hard all day and sweating profusely under the hot Caribbean sun. Of course, not many people smelled sweet. Bathing was rather superfluous, in most circles of society, and many people smelled bad. None smelled as bad as the pirate who had never bathed once in his life.

"Uh..." Jack, frankly, was amazed that Will could get anything out of his mouth, based on the way he looked. So much like Bootstrap, it was a bit scary. Should he tell... well, perhaps in the near future he would explain the whole issue with Bootstrap. "Thank you?"

"You're very welcome," Jack replied with a grin. "Now, if ye'll excuse me... I'll go an' take care of these dishes so ye can put Rebekah t' sleep." He didn't particularly want any interruptions, once he finally got started on the explanation as to why he'd decided to visit Port Royal. He coughed lightly and gathered the dishes up, taking them into the kitchen.

It was in complete disarray. Jack was definitely going to have to talk to Martha about this. He couldn't stand it when environments he was in were this messy. It just didn't compute with his brain. Something about it just kept him from concentrating. But he couldn't afford to be distracted that long. He had dishes to clean and then a whole life story to reveal. Well, maybe it wouldn't be his whole history... but it would certainly be a lot more than he'd ever told anyone.

Pity it was such a dark reason prompting all of this "fun" sharing, eh?

**

* * *

Blackmagic**: Sorry it took me so long. School's been absolutely horrid. And I'm glad you liked the first chapter... If you get bored waiting for my next update, you can always check out my other stories.  
**CrazyPirateGirl**: A lot of those questions you had in your review will be answered in the next chapter. Not all of them, of course, but a lot of them. This one is... rather not what you'll expect it to be. But thanks for the review, anyway.  
**Sunkist3208**: Don't apologize...I know that things come up. Just glad you left a review this time. I'm rather interested to learn why Jack is there, too. He hasn't told me yet. And no... I didn't go with Will and Elizabeth, obviously. There's a reason behind that... but neither of them want to speak, either. Thanks for the review, Whitney!  
**Jack**: Well... Jack can't be perfectly healthy all the time, you see. He gets stressed just like the average person and he's exposed to germs too. I'm glad you're feeling better, though, and thanks for the review.  
**DarkoBender**: Thanks for the words of encouragement! I hope you enjoy this one. I dunno if I did...  
**Raisin**: Well, Martha is Will's wife, as I've explained in this chapter. There is an issue in Will and Elizabeth's past... and I plan on explaining it. Even though this book is going to be set up a lot like Joseph Conrad's _Heart of Darkness_ and will shortly be mostly dialog. I'll explain it. And I'll explain all of Jack's illness, too. Because he is ill. Hence the coughing.  
Thank you, as always, for the review! It always brightens my day when I see I have a review and then find out you left it. Like finding a chocolate egg rather than a hard boiled egg at Easter or something.  
I feel I should tell you that I'm not giving up on the other two. Actually, I have half of the next chapter handwritten for Taste of Misery and all of the next chapter for One Night Stands handwritten. I'll type them up during Calculus on Friday.  
**Daisy**: Well, I bet you get it a bit better now, don't you? Thank you for reading it. And I'm sorry that I let Katie say what she said to you... and that I disappeared. And that I don't seem to be there for you much anymore. Frankly, I'm just sorry.  
**ChaosLightning13**: Well, I had to be careful with the last chapter and this one. Can't give too much away yet or I'll have a mob of angry readers outside my door. It's bad enough that Will and Elizabeth aren't married...  
Thanks for the review regardless. It's great hearing from you again. Since you were the first to review for this, you get a bag of caramel Kisses. Lucky duck. 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to write this.

AN (10/3) Yes, yes, I know I haven't updated for five months. There's a reason for that, but I don't want to go into it. Just be comforted in the fact that I'm still going to update this one in the future. And I've decided to rewrite this chapter and the one after it. Too much dialogue, not enough action…so, yeah. Tell me what ya think, especially if you don't want me to disappear again.

**Homeward Bound: Chapter Three**

"Why d' you have to tell them?" Jack asked himself softly as he worked on cleaning the second to last dish. He was quite proficient at cleaning plates and kitchen utensils, oddly enough, even though he was quite the perfectionist and actually heated water to clean with. "I mean, its no' like they won' figure it out, eventually."

Jack sighed and was silent for a moment, scraping the chicken into a rubbish bin. "I have to," he answered himself with a finality to his voice that indicated his resolve was now quite firm. "It'd be unfair o' me not to tell."

Jack finished the rest of the dishes in silence and put them where they belonged. He'd help Martha out tomorrow by cleaning up this kitchen. And then, maybe, he could visit with Will in the blacksmith. Unless, of course, they tossed him out after hearing his story. Amusing how life can be related to someone in a story, isn't it? Stories are practically the only way a human can relate anything to anyone else because of how different opinions are and how different personalities are. Jack wished that his stories weren't so interesting to other people. He didn't want other people to get a glimpse of his life. If they knew what made him tick, they'd know how to kill him. Jack only barely trusted the Turners enough to tell them anything. And now he was going to tell them everything. Well, practically everything.

Once he was done with that self-assigned task (and after he heard Will and Martha talking softly in the front room, indicating that Rebekah was asleep), Jack left the kitchen and swaggered his curious way to the front room. Both Martha and Will looked at him oddly for a second before motioning him towards a chair.

Jack shook his head. "I'd rather stand, for the mos' part," he said as an explanation to get that stupid confused look off Will's face. Honestly, that boy would bother him to death one of these days. "If tha's all right wiv you, of course."

"Fine. It's fine," Will replied after Martha elbowed him in the stomach. He smiled slightly. "You don't have to tell us."

"I do," Jack corrected softly. "I do." He paused for a moment, walking to stand in front of both of them. "I suppose I should tell you when this all started."

"When what all started?" Will asked, wanting to get to the point. Predictably. Jack didn't blame him for his curiosity.

"Don't interrupt," Martha hissed, hitting him in the stomach with her elbow again. "Just talk, Jack. Need to get it out sometime." She smiled reassuringly at Jack before setting her head on Will's shoulder.

"As I was sayin'," Jack continued, frowning slightly for a moment before regaining his calm and calculated facade. "I should tell you when all of this started. Mus've been... three years ago now. After our little adventure wiv Barbossa. That's when it started."

* * *

"I love Tortuga," the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow said as he successfully anchored the _Black Pearl_ near the bawdy and lawless town most law officials liked to forget existed. "Finest place on the earth," he added to no one in particular, since his crew was all wrapped up in their own thoughts. Though he'd only been captain of the_ Pearl_ for a short while, Jack had made his crew very rich. All of the pirates who'd been under Barbossa were now pushing up daisies, so to speak, and the Navy didn't bother searching the cave on the Isla de Muerta for any of the other pirates. They'd had too many casualties and limped home as result. This meant that Jack, having a head start on Commodore James Norrington, was able to ransack the place and leave practically nothing. Many of the crew were already thinking of retirement. They had an equal share, same as Jack, and were now very rich men. Jack didn't blame them, of course. They were to do what was right by them. Now that he had a larger ship he needed more crewmembers anyway. That's why they were coming here, though AnaMaria and Gibbs truly thought he was coming just because he wanted a woman desperately. That wasn't true. He would enjoy the company of a woman tonight, but only because he had nothing better to do. 

"Aye, so ye've said, Captain," Joshamee Gibbs said teasingly. "Numerous times. Practically since ye announced we'd be heading here."

"Ah…well, it is the finest place on earth. No man can ever feel alone here, unless he prefers to be alone." Jack grinned complacently, seeming almost ready to jump overboard to get to shore as quickly and uniquely as possible.

"Ye've said tha' as well," Gibbs pointed out. He hastily added, "Of course, I know you're right." The wizened quartermaster didn't want another haranguing as to how spectacular the festering city was. He'd lived there a few years. Sure, to incoming captains and crews, it was _the_ place…but for those unfortunate souls stuck on that godforsaken rock, it was just torture. Most of the lovely ladies on the island wished for something to happen to help them not be dead inside anymore…

"Aye, well… Drinks are on me, nonetheless, a' the _Bride_," Jack said with a confident smirk. It wasn't often that he bought his entire crew a drink. Not only was it expensive, but it generally just lead to more problems than it solved. When a group of friendly men get drunk together, there's always some fight over a small detail… But it was a celebration, since he now had the _Pearl_ again. There would never be another celebration like this one. Jack planned on keeping the _Pearl_ until his dying day. Retiring didn't seem a viable option for the infamous captain. Especially not now. Not when everything was going so perfectly. He'd bested the bad pirate and had escaped the stuffy commodore out for his blood while living through something that would make quite a story, especially since he now had Gibbs on his side again… What could go wrong?

The crew soon rushed down the gangplank of the _Black Pearl_, closely followed by Jack, AnaMaria, and Gibbs. He hoped that both of his senior officers would stay aboard after the celebration…but that was something to think of after he got three sheets to the wind, sobered, got drunk again, and sobered once more.

The _Faithful Bride_ was packed when they reached the drinking establishment. It was just another busy day on the bustling and drunken island, though, so Jack thought nothing of it when his crew was shunted off towards a relatively quiet corner to drink themselves silly. He fully planned on having enough to drink he couldn't feel anything anymore.

As he sat and made crude jokes with his crew, drinking his rum from time to time, he suddenly realized that…well, being drunk wasn't as fun as it used to be. Before Barbossa. Before he'd taken that cursed coin from that stone chest. The man knew what it was like to feel as though nothing satisfied man's carnal desires. The rum wasn't helping the dry patch in the back of his throat that had been there since Barbossa stabbed him through the chest. He had a scar from that, even though it never did bleed. It was disturbing, to say the least, to think of what it _didn't_ feel like to have that through his vital organs…

Feeling a bit subdued, suddenly, the pirate captain excused himself from his crew, who were now on their fourth round of drinks. They all seemed very pleased with themselves and Jack didn't feel as though he related to any of them any longer. It was silly to feel such a way, and he knew it. But it had only been two weeks previously he'd nearly died. He'd gambled everything, and for several moments, he'd apparently lost.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, the slightly inebriated captain didn't notice a woman about to enter the door he was just about to leave. They ran into each other, jolting Jack back to his thoughts in a jiffy. "Excuse me," Jack said automatically.

"Yeh really should watch where yeh're goin'," a distinctly feminine voice said huffily as a pair of milky white hands brushed the folds of a stunning blue dress. It matched the woman's eyes, Jack noted, and made her seem even more beautiful than she was. It was hard to imagine a more comely female, though, because this particular redhead had a perfectly proportioned face and a curvy body that would suit someone of her obvious profession. "Women don' particularly like a man who runs in'o them in doorways."

Jack smirked lightly and bowed. "I'm terribly sorry, love. I din' mean to not look where I was going, bu' I was so distracted by your beauty I couldn't help but lose meself in my own thoughts, fair maiden."

"You try tha' on all the gels?" the woman asked, an amused quirk to her eyebrow. "Because yeh shouldn't. The smile's good, though." She took a step forward, nearly running into Jack again. "I've got customers t' tend to…mister…"

"Captain Sparrow," Jack claimed proudly. "And I don' think you do. I mean, love, wha's the point of raking the tavern for a customer if there's one right before you who 'as a 'good smile'? I should be ashamed if ye din' think I don' want to spend the night wiv a woman such as yourself."

"Yeh've spent too much time around women like me," the woman said gently, looking down at the ground for a moment before glancing up. "But…if yeh really want me, how can I refuse?"

"Precisely," Jack replied with a smirk that had set many women's hearts aflame. "Besides, all ye'll find in there is drunken riffraff, no' a charming captain with his own ship who happens t' be a little drunk…" He chuckled lightly and put his arm around her waist.

* * *

"Whatcha doin', Jack?" the redhead asked as she brushed her long locks of hair while sitting next to him on a small bed in a room above the _Faithful Bride_, where she worked as a barmaid and occasional strumpet. With each stroke of her brush, her hair seemed to glow until it was cascading down her head onto her soft shoulders like a waterfall of fire. Jack generally enjoyed watching her brush her hair because it was almost like watching a master painter put on the final pieces of a perfect creation. 

"Lookin' at an old map," Jack replied distractedly. "This one, Nessa, is rumored t' come from William Kidd. I got it off an ole friend of mine who knew a man who knew a man who was the son of a man who was the cousin of one of Kidd's crewmen who was a cook, if memory serves. Anyway, it's t' the largest booty anyone has ever seen in the Caribbean. Bigger than Barbossa's store. An' I just got it figured out." There was a gleam of triumph to his dark eyes, similar to the one Nessa had seen momentarily after their first night together.

"Oh," Nessa replied, the corners of her lips pulling into a slight pout. He always seemed so distracted lately. Sighing, she set the brush down on the bed and leaned up against Jack. Having never been in a relationship, she wasn't entirely sure what was supposed to happen. Men generally didn't care for her opinions on anything. They only wanted to get her legs apart, satisfy that carnal lust, and get back to their "important" little lives.

Jack smiled at her and put his free arm around her shoulder, though he soon went back to pouring over the slightly moldy piece of map that had certainly seen better days. It wasn't that Kidd put a great riddle in the treasure map. Water had worn away a lot of the ink and the whole thing looked about ready to fall apart. Men have a curious habit of trying anything and everything to figure out puzzles involving money, however.

Nessa sighed contentedly, relaxing in his arms until she suddenly started coughing. It was a miserable cough, but it was clearly only due to the fact that she was battling a cold. Jack let go of her and looked at her sympathetically until she was able to get her lungs to stop hacking up whatever mucus or imaginary thing was blocking her breathing. She smiled miserably at him once she finished, a look in her eyes clearly of shame and regret. Who was she to break his concentration like that?

"I hope ye get better soon," Jack said softly, setting the map down and gently stroking her cool cheek. "I mean-" Jack froze in the middle of a sentence, leaving Nessa rather confused. The pirate captain was staring towards the opened window with a look of supreme surprise on his face. He and Nessa had been softly talking to one another in the candlelight for the past few hours as he'd gone over his new map. The sun was much further down than he thought it would be. But that wasn't what surprised him. There was a face in the window. It was a particularly ugly face, for the man who owned it had a nasty scowl designed to intimidate on his face in addition to a nose that resembled a pig's snout and ears that would look large on a chimpanzee. The horrible smirk he wore was just horrendous. Jack could almost smell the rotten eggs that this man's breath would resemble intimately from here, even though the man was only missing a few teeth.

"'Ello," the man said with a slight nod of his head as a gangly hand reached into the room and he pulled himself in. "I was wonderin' if ye'd be neighborly an' lend me a treasure map. I'm from down the hall an' I think ye'll wan' to be a good Samaritan so vat I don' hurt the pretty li'le bird you've been wooing, sir." He pulled out a pistol, a fiendish look to his dull brown eyes as he aimed it at Nessa's head.

She choked back a scream a little too late and sounded a bit like she'd just hiccupped as Jack stood up, a frown on his face. "Right. And I'm supposed t' just hand over a map as simple as tha', eh? I mean…mate, tha' was rather lame. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, ye'll have to come up wiv summat less pathetic to intimidate me." He glared at the gun, taking a step towards the deranged man.

"Oi, watch it," the man said, taking a step back. His rather slow mind hadn't considered what he might have to do if Jack resisted. He was just proud of himself for such a witty opening and triumphant entry. The men downstairs had said that Jack would give it up without a fuss…

"No, no, I think you'd best watch it," Jack said venomously, stepping closer. He meant it, too. If this fellow didn't watch what he was doing, he might fall out the window. "Put the gun down, son. You'll only get beat by me. Possibly killed. Besides, if ye shoot, ye might very well end up killing someone you don' want to kill. At the very least, the owner o' this fine establishment will 'ead up here to see wot the problem is. You know, they don' often like it when their best guests or employees get injured…"

"Shut yer gob!" the man said desperately, taking another few steps backwards. "I'm no' afraid of ye, Captain! I want that map. It should be mine! Kidd was me uncle's brother's friend!"

"It isn't a question of if it should or should not be yours," Jack said simply. "It is rightfully mine, mate. I bought it fair an' square." He took another step forward, a look of surprise in his eyes as the man finally did reach the window and actually cocked the pistol.

"I'll shoot you!" he shouted angrily. "You can't have that map! They'll kill me if I don't get it from you!" There was a wisp of fear in his dull eyes as he leaned even closer to the window. His finger was trembling on the trigger, aching to pull it and get his tormentor to leave him alone.

"Well…if tha' be the case…" Jack sighed softly and grabbed his sword from a chair. He did something he'd always wanted to do, since that day in the blacksmith where Will had ruined his plans for the first time. He tossed the blade at the man near the window. It went in a lot further than Jack thought it would and the surprise and momentum pushed the man back through the window and to the ground as his finger reflexively pulled the trigger. Fortunately, the bullet lodged itself into the roof, but the sound reverberated in the small room.

Frowning as Nessa screamed, Jack walked over to the window and leaned out the side, cringing slightly as he saw the annoying and bad pirate lying prostrate on the ground with his leg at a funny angle in a pool of his own crimson blood. Several figures were running towards the scene, glancing up at Jack and saying something loudly that sounded rather bad. Apparently they all knew about Kidd's map. And they all apparently wanted to see the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow dead, since that would be the easiest way to steal Kidd's map.

Glancing towards Nessa, Jack frowned. "Er…love…I think I'd better get goin'. I'll visit you, I promise, when I next can." He hurried over to the shaking woman and kissed her quickly before she started coughing again. "Get better soon, Nessa," he added hastily before grabbing a blunt object, his hat, the map, and his effects. He had several pairs of clothes aboard the _Pearl_, so there was no use in grabbing his pants or shirt. Nearly in his skivvies, the captain descended down the ladder to beat off those ruffians intent on getting his map. This was to be the _Pearl_'s next great adventure.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Yep. I can't write this. So…I've trained a monkey to type for me. Her name is Calamity Jane! And she's really snazzy. A really good trained monkey. I just write what I want her to say –no, don't touch that!- and she types it, simple as that. Of course, all the bananas are starting to smell. Jane don't like bananas…

AN (10/3): Ah aha. I like writing. I don't know why I gave up. Because I'm a loser. Oh, wait, I started college. So, since I have, I won't update very often… I feel like I've been away from Fanfic forever… Well, I truly have. But maybe I will update often. I've worked out a deal with my muse, Katie (who also happens to be my roommate): when she's practicing the trumpet, I get to write. Of course, I'm writing this right now and I really should be in bed. I mean, I have French bright and early…er…yeah. I'm rambling now, so I'm going to get on with it.

**Homeward Bound: Chapter Four**

"Captain!" a plaintive voice cried out, resembling Cotton's multicolored parrot who liked to make sure the rest of the crew were on task by yelling out random obscenities and pirate clichés. "Captain Sparrow!"

Jack merely rolled his kohl-lined eyes (a rare occurrence) at the sound of the voice. "What is it, Michael?" he asked tiredly, slumping over the helm and crossing his arms. He was exhausted. There were large bags under his eyes that clearly weren't merely from the kohl. Plus, he'd been rather irritable lately, what with the ineptitude of his new crew. The pirate captain hadn't been a captain in over ten years, after all, and he'd forgotten how horrid it was to have a man aboard who didn't understand a single thing. Pintel and Ragetti surely would've died if Barbossa had been able to kill them. Jack, while captain of the _Pearl _before, had come very close to it.

"Oh, there you are!" Michael said gleefully, resembling a young child after his mother came back into the room with a new toy. "I was wondering…"

"No. Whatever it is, no." Jack tiredly looked away from the young man stepping up the stairs to get onto the bridge. He was very sick of the blonde man's hypothetical questions. The last one he'd allowed the youth to ask had gone along the lines of 'if you were aboard a ship and the navy caught you and you battled with the navy and they killed most of your people and you were lost at sea and only had yourself, your first mate, and one of your crew members by your side, would you eventually resort to cannibalism to save your life, even if you had no way of cooking their meat and would probably die anyway?' There were those who believed there were no stupid questions. Jack had been one of those naïve fools, for a time, until meeting Michael. At least Ragetti and Pintel kept their brainless questions to themselves, generally.

"But you haven't even heard my question!" Michael protested, a petulant look to his blue eyes. This was one of those times you just wished something would explode on the ship and put you out of your misery…

The search for William Kidd's treasure wasn't exactly going to plan. Since Jack's hasty escape from Tortuga, ships had been following the _Pearl_'s every move. All the greedy people in the world wanted what they thought they had a claim on. Since they didn't actually have the map, it was just best to follow like sheep. Jack was doing his best to winnow out the masses, but it was hard work and the closer they got to the island, the more the treasure seemed to call to Jack. He had foolish dreams of one day presenting it all to Nessa to get her off the streets… The longer the captain was at sea, the more he thought of her.

"I know," Jack said wearily, straightening out somewhat so that he didn't look as though he was trying to sleep on duty. "It's probably jus' another one of your ruddy what if's, isn't it?"

Michael frowned slightly and glanced towards the decks for a moment, indicating that it truly was. His mind was vainly searching for some other excuse. "Which side is port?"

Jack rolled his eyes again and pointed weakly, banging his head against the helm for a moment. This was all just some terrible dream and he'd be waking up any moment now, right? It seemed impossible that someone could actually be this thick. He'd clearly explained to Michael at least five times the directions on a ship. It wasn't that hard to grasp…

"Oh." Michael turned and looked at the port side of the _Pearl_, examining everything as though it were the first time he'd ever seen any of it. "I see," he said a moment later, chewing on his lower lip. "What is that?"

"What is what? Port?" Jack wearily shook his right hand. "I've told you already-"

"No, I know _that_," Michael interrupted almost proudly. He pointed. "That. That black speck. What is that? Is it a bug?"

"No…" Jack said with a frown as he looked up and glanced towards where Michael was pointing. His dark eyes widened. "No. Tha's no bug…tha's a ship. Since we're in Spanish waters…it very well could be the Navy…"

* * *

"Come on!" Jack said quickly, glancing at his crew. They all looked so weary, so ready to give up. But they couldn't give up. Jimenez himself was approaching, and he was out for blood. The Spaniard was Norrington's equal in all but one thing: Jimenez was cruel to those who broke the law. There was no mercy as far as he saw it. Jack really hated those ruddy officers who seemed to have a rule book crammed up their behinds… "We can 'old a bi' longer!" The two ships were intertwined much like a pair of snails that happen to meet in a luscious garden at the right time. 

Captains were often required to yell such morale boosting comments, even if they truly thought their ship was doomed and was about to meet the bottom of Davy Jones' Locker. Jack didn't think that would happen…but the number of bodies on deck was far from encouraging. Moshe, Dungbie, and Crimp were all dead. Their precious blood was staining the decks of the _Pearl_ a curious color. The _Pearl_ hadn't seen this much blood in many a year, due to the fact that Barbossa's men couldn't bleed and that Jack hadn't been in any major scrimmages since receiving the _Pearl_… She seemed unnerved by the blood as well, for she was pitching to and fro much more than she generally did in weather like this.

Fortunately for the safety of the crew, the morale boosting comment was enough to give them a little more vigor. Jimenez soon was forced to back up, towards his ship. The Spanish man was excited about catching the famed Captain Jack Sparrow who'd escaped from Commodore James Norrington right under Norrington's nose. They really had quite a rivalry, the Spanish and English. Jimenez was always trying to "one-up" the auspicious Commodore who now seemed obsessed to the point of distraction in regards to the infamous pirate captain. How better to appear more capable than Norrington than to catch the very man he was after?

The look in Jimenez's dark eyes was one of complete disgust, though, as he watched his crew heading back towards his ship. Jimenez was used to winning; he'd never faced a man before that didn't inevitably surrender. Of course, Jimenez didn't often go against desperate pirate captains who would rather die than surrender… Swearing lightly as another of his officers ran past him towards their bridge, Jimenez spat on the decks of his ship and pulled out his sword. This Sparrow fellow was his.

* * *

"And I'm tellin' you, I'm not a bloody soldier or privateer," Jack practically growled, rancor in his dark eyes as a Spaniard neared him holding pincers that didn't look very nice at all. The metal was almost corroded away and the way the Spaniard was holding it seemed to indicate that he was about to use it to break Jack's nose. Jack, obviously, didn't want his nose to break, especially with such a filthy instrument… The Spaniards had kept him in the brig of Jimenez's ship for the past five days with nothing to eat or drink. That was after a week of various types of torture. Jimenez wanted to know why Norrington didn't kill Jack when he had the opportunity, before. It made more sense to him to kill the blacksmith, who would stand as a martyr, to get a pirate like Jack out of the way. The cruel man reasoned that Jack must've made a deal with the venerated Commodore, hence all this fuss over what Jack knew. 

"Never have been, never will be," the Spaniard mocked, adding what Jack typically said after that sentence with an exaggerated accent. They'd heard that from Jack so much they could recite it from memory. There comes a point when people reach a breaking point. Jack was very close to it; he'd never been treated _this_ cruelly his entire life. The only thing keeping him going was the knowledge that the _Pearl_ was safe in the hands of Anamaria and Gibbs. The Spaniards had nearly fully retreated when Jimenez managed to knock Jack out. He'd pulled the pirate captain off the ship. Unfortunately, nobody had noticed until _after_ Jack was already incarcerated and the _Pearl_ had changed course to limp back to Tortuga and lick her wounds. They were worried about their captain, but they knew he'd join up with them again if possible. Being a pirate is a dangerous profession.

"Exactly," Jack said with a forced sigh of relief. "I'm glad ye've finally figured it out. I can't believe it took me so long t'-"

"Quiet, English scum," the Spaniard said angrily, waving the pincers threateningly towards Jack. "Jimenez is going to talk to you." He seemed disappointed, seeing as Jimenez didn't like watching the pincer treatment.

"Oh, wow!" Jack said excitedly, struggling to sit up a bit straighter. He'd been chained to the wall with so many chains it was ridiculous. Everyone in the Caribbean knew how wily the captain could be and knew that he was harder to keep in jail than a snake. Of course, this was going to the extreme…Jack had a hard time breathing because of the pressure, as well as the metallic smell… "I've been wanting t' speak to him. Surely he's more sensible than the rat who likes talkin' t' me…"

"I wouldn't be so sure," the Spaniard replied with a shrug, leaning against one of the iron bars the brig was made of. "Jimenez doesn't offer mercy. He just wants to get rid of you." He smiled vaguely and then abruptly came to attention, saluting as the smartly dressed Jimenez stepped into the cell.

Jimenez was a strict disciplinarian. He ran his ship much like the way he dressed; everything was in place and perfect. His uniform was freshly pressed, his dark hair immaculately pulled back beneath his wig. His dark eyes were stern as he stared at Jack. He muttered something in Spanish to his underling and the man instantly left the brig. "Captain Sparrow," he said very softly, approaching the fatigued captain cautiously as though he were nearing a feral animal.

"Jimenez. Lovely to see you again." Jack smiled vacantly. "I never thought I'd be so 'appy to see someone's face as I am now. If I could get up, I'd kiss ye, mate." He glanced down at his hands, twirling the silver ring on his index finger over.

"I do not doubt that," Jimenez responded, a glimmer of curiosity dancing across his eyes. "My men say you've lost your mind."

"How could I lose somethin' I've never had?" Jack asked earnestly, still staring at his hands. "I don' fink I've lost my mind. If I did think I had lost it, I probably would prove I'm perfectly sane. Don' it require a smidgen o' sanity to realize you're not sane?"

"I suppose…" Jimenez reluctantly admitted, leaning down near Jack. "What are you up to, Sparrow?"

"The paperweights are flying away again." Jack's kohl-lined eyes were as expressive as dead fish eyes as he continued to stare at his hands. "And I'm telling you, I'm not a soldier or a privateer. Ne'er have been, ne'er will be."

"You've told me that," Jimenez snapped, frowning at Jack. "I'm not a fool. I know as well as you do that you're not really insane. Drop the act. We've decided to give you to the British in exchange for something of value."

"Value as in black and white or value as in money?" Jack asked as he glanced up at Jimenez, the blank look still in his eyes. He looked absolutely miserable, his hair was wild even for him.

"Money," Jimenez quipped. "Why would I be interested in black and white?" Humans have an innate desire to want to test the boundaries of insanity in another human. Altered states of consciousness are always intriguing.

"Because black and white would help you rule the world," Jack replied simply. "But it doesn't matter, I guess. Be' that he'd pay a lo' for me. I bet women would pay more. Why do I pay them?" He seemed genuinely puzzled.

Jimenez bit his large lower lip for a moment, disgust and slight envy in his eyes. "Look, you need not keep this façade around me. Soon you will be safely locked up on land for several months until the English Navy finally manages to come and get you." He laughed. "And once their money comes. Which might take a very long time."

"I mean, it don' make much sense for me to pay them…they seem to get more out of the whole interchange than I do." Jack frowned and looked at his hands again. "I'd rather not take their money, though. Money is…fluid. Always moving from person to person. If they paid me, I'd never get rid of it. I can't break the ruddy cycle."

Jimenez sighed and stood erect. "Glad we could have this talk, Sparrow."

Jack's eyes widened. "And I'm telling you, I'm not a soldier or a privateer. Ne'er have been, ne'er will be." He put his chin to his chest and fell completely silent.

Jimenez stared at him for a long while before finally leaving the cell, snapping something angrily to the man holding the pincers. There was no point in torturing the captain any further. All the information he knew had been extracted and a broken and insane man was all that was left. The interchange had convinced him of that.

Once Jack was safely alone in his jail cell, the tired captain breathed a sigh of relief. "Nessa…I really don' know how much longer I can do this," he said, a fanciful note to his voice. He liked speaking to the redhead, even though he was perfectly aware that the beautiful siren couldn't hear him. This charade would either work or genuinely drive him insane…

**Just a quick thank you to all reviewers. I don't think I'm allowed to individually (feel free to correct me, if I'm wrong)thank all y'all, but I'd love to give y'all hugs or something…**


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